Columbus, Ohio's Times New Viking excel in lo-fi noise mongering deeply rooted in the garage rock school of recording. Following two albums on the Siltbreeze imprint (Dig Yourself (2005) and The Paisley Reich (2007)), the group moved to indie powerhouse Matador for 2008's Rip Off and the critically lauded Born Again Revisited in 2009. In a lateral move, Merge Records has taken on the turbulent trio to release Dancer Equired. And with the new label, has come a tonal shift.
Whereas earlier efforts were sneering, unyielding musical dervishes, spinning raw ratcheted-up racket of the highest order, Dancer Equired has shelved some of the crude character. In its place is a 14-song soundscape that is still gritty and feral, though it seems a sly subterfuge for a more polished production. It makes for the band's strongest effort to date.
Jared Philips is among the more interesting guitarists on the scene today, providing an endless trove of inventive riffs that despite an immediate pop sensibility sound fantastically fresh. The whole album sounds unrehearsed, creating a parade of freewheeling male-female vocals, glimmering guitars, animated keyboards, infectious melodies, understated drums all delivered in a blistering screed of musical rebellion.
"It's a Culture" makes the opening volley with decidedly Midwestern sentiment: Made it though the winter without noticing / A different kind of beauty that ruins everything. The lead guitar riffs, unusual chord voicings and whirling keyboard carry male-female attempts at harmony in a genuine blast of a pop tune.
"Ever Falling in Love" opens with a Guided By Voices-esque lick, dreamy vocals, led by a steady drum patter that unravels into a fuzzed-out romp. The structuring seems too familiar for the band, following a verse-chorus-verse-refrain-chorus progression, but its simplicity is reinvented with creative dynamics that find drummer/vocalist Adam Elliot and keyboardist/vocalist Beth Murphy singing together, though delivering different lyrics. It's first-date awkward, and it's visceral.
Sweet, breathy vocals dominate the catchy "No Room to Live," which seems destined for a Wes Anderson soundtrack. It highlights the band's knack for filtering 60s jangle magic through muddled speakers (again, à la Robert Pollard). It's arguably the band's most accessible track to date. "California Roll" follows suit, sounding like a disjointed rehearsal during a Phil Spector session. The tidily overdriven guitar sounds slightly out of tune, the ting of the cymbals faded, as Murphy's vocals supply an endearing melody, a dulcet juxtaposition to the noise that surrounds her.
"Downtown Eastern Bloc," the album's longest track at 3:30-plus, features an unrelentingly speedy strum and pluck that recalls Designing a Nervous Breakdown-era The Anniversary. "F--- Her Tears" bubbles with youthful immediacy and the energetic chug of lyrical guitars, carnival-like keys and tightly wound drums.
A Motown drum beat gives way to a shaking, snaking, pulsating tonality that reverberates throughout "Somebody's Slave," the sort of menacing neo-psychedelic rock favored by contemporaries The Black Angels, and unapologetically inspired by Lou Reed and friends. Murphy and co share vocals: Every now and then you are somebody's slave / Gotta pay attention to the choices you make. Touché.
"No Good" closes the album with a charming break-up song: but there is one thing you can do / tell me there's a point / to being me and you. Murphy's plaintive call sounds as if recorded through a vacuum, echoing the sentiment of the song. The tinny timbre of the ukulele-like solo accompaniment adds to the childish innocence of the song, and suits a record that even at the worst of times is thoroughly enjoyable – and fun.
